


Pi Kappa SIGH

by SassyEggs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:57:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8420425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs
Summary: It was the night of the annual Pi Kappa Psi haunted house party and some of the guys are hoping to scare up a little action.HAPPY BIRTHDAY PAPERFLOWERCROWNS!!!!!!!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bex_xo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bex_xo/gifts).



> Hope you have a fabulous birthday PFC!!!

It was the night of the annual Pi Kappa Psi haunted house party and charity event, though it could only be called ‘charity’ in the very loosest sense. The price of admission was one canned good, and just about everyone at Westeros University had a dented and dusty canned good lying around. The food bank always seemed rather indifferent to the fraternity’s donation, but Pi Kappa Psi wasn’t about to let silent disapproval stop them.

Jon had got roped into helping, just as always, since Robb was in charge of the event.

“I don’t know why you don’t just go ahead and pledge,” Theon said as the two of them worked another keg out of the back of his 4Runner. “You’re always here.”

That was a good point, actually; he _was_ always there, did more work than some of the brothers and almost as much as the recruits, and God knew Robb was always asking him to pledge.  And yet every rush week he just... didn’t. 

“Maybe next year.”

“What’s next year?” Robb asked, walking up from behind.

“Jon’s gonna pledge.”

“Bout time,” Robb smiled. “Gotcha a t-shirt, man.  Check it out.”

Jon inspected the shirt Robb handed him: it was just a regular grey t-shirt with the fraternity name on it, no graphics, but instead of Pi Kappa Psi it said Pi Kappa _SIGH._

“Brilliant, right?” Theon asked and slapped him on the back. “I can’t believe no one ever thought of it!”

He wondered how much they’d been drinking when they came up with that idea, but slipped the shirt on over his head anyway.

Working ‘admissions’ wasn’t a terrible way to start the evening, collecting canned goods at the gate and thanking people for coming. In a way it was fun to be the first person to see each costumed guest before the night got inevitably out of control- the nights at ΠΚΨ _always_ got out of control.  It also meant he would be the first to know who was there, and since there was someone he was hoping would come, who _usually_ came to her brother’s wild parties, he figured this was a good way to start.

It was with her in mind that he thanked a man dressed as a Greek cowboy for his donation, then looked down at a familiar face... and a whole lot more.

“Margaery. Hey.”  His eyes wandered her over completely, almost against his will, but who could blame him when there was so much flesh on display.  “Uh... what are you supposed to be?”

“We’re _hippies,”_ a voice called out, strained with annoyance.  “Or _supposed_ to be hippies.”

And there she was. He should have known Sansa would be with Margaery and Jeyne, just as he should have known she’d be annoyed with her outgoing friend.  And now, taking in the costumed tableau, he was starting to understand what had her so upset.

Sansa was wearing bellbottom jeans and a tie-dye shirt under a fringed vest, her long hair flat and shiny and held back with a braided headband.

Jeyne was wearing some crazy psychedelic dress and white patent boots that went up past her knees, hair in big curls and oversized sunglasses on her head.

Margaery was wearing a string bikini with peace signs drawn on it.

“Oh, right,” he nodded, amused. “I see it now.”

“I like your shirt, Jon,” Margaery purred up at him, voice tracing his name the same way her fingers traced the words across his chest. “Very clever.”

“I didn’t... it wasn’t my idea,” he mumbled rather dumbly, though he would guess that it didn’t really matter _who_ thought it up she was gonna lay her hands on him anyway.  She wasn’t even listening as her and Jeyne bounced their way up the sidewalk towards the house, leaving Sansa momentarily behind, murder in her eyes.  And oddly, that glare didn’t seem directed at Margaery; it seemed directed at _him._

“Hey.”

She pressed her lips together hard but didn’t answer, just dropped three canned goods into the box at his feet and followed her friends into the house.

 _Good job, Jon,_ he chastised himself. _You couldn’t think of anything better than ‘hey?’_

Working ‘admissions’ was a _terrible_ job now he knew she was inside, and he texted Robb a request for a replacement.  A fresh-faced pledge relieved him within moments, handing him a beer and thanking him for his time.  Nice kid.  They all were.  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to pledge.

Party was in full-swing by then, and only got crazier with every passing moment, every keg that was rolled out, but Jon kept his eyes on Sansa. Subtly.  At least he _hoped_ he was subtle.  It wasn’t creepy or anything, he was just trying to look out for her, keep her safe; it was something he always did though no one ever asked him to. She was on her second beer.  He thought.  Definitely not more than three.  She shouldn’t be drinking anyway but he was _not_ gonna be the square to tell her that.

Robb’s little sister, it felt like he’d known her forever. He told himself, often, that his feelings for her were the same as Robb’s were- an older brother who had her best interests at heart- and any time his thoughts veered _past_ that he always dragged them back to where it was more appropriate.  She’d be horrified if she knew how much she occupied his brain, and in what ways.  And Robb would castrate him, that was for certain. 

“Meet in the Red Room in 10,” Theon shouted in his ear.

Which meant it was ‘go time’ for the plan Robb had come up with earlier that day, and after downing the last of his beer and making sure no one was getting handsy with his surrogate little sister, he wandered up to the meeting room that had been converted into a miniature haunted house for the occasion.

Theon was already there. He looked... drunk.  No surprise.

“Robb’s gonna hide behind the coffin so when Margaery gets scared she’ll run right to him. I’ll be behind the curtain.  You get in the phone booth.”

Jon nodded. The phone booth was creepy as hell- an actual old-time phone booth with red handprints and streaks on the glass that looked like someone had met an untimely end while making a call. 

“I’ll get Sansa,” Theon continued. “I’ve been looking for a reason to get my hands on her, this is perfect.”

 _“I’ll_ get Sansa,” Jon corrected.  “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Just being honest,” he shrugged. “Guess I’ll get Jeyne.”

“Lucky Jeyne.”

Robb, of course, would be getting Margaery, since the entire point of this ridiculous scare scenario was for the two of them to get together. It was sort of a pointless endeavor- everybody knew Margaery had a thing for Robb; and everybody knew Robb had a thing for Margaery.  The only thing nobody understood was why neither one of them had made a move yet.

The Ewok-style robe he’d shrugged into bunched funny around his chest and he was trying to adjust it when Robb came rushing in.

“Alright, they’re on their way so get into position. Theon, give Jon the scream mask.”

“Why can’t _I_ wear the scream mask?”

“Cause you’re ugly enough without it,” Robb retorted.

“Dick.”

“Asshole.”

“Cunt.”

“Prick.”

“Douche.”

“Whore.”

They bumped fists and oh, right, _that_ was why Jon never pledged this stupid fraternity.  Idiots.  Theon tossed the mask in Jon’s direction then sauntered away with an exaggerated swagger that made it seem like he was overcompensating for something, hiding completely behind a curtain while Jon took his place in the phone booth. 

It wasn’t long before the creak of the door sounded out in the otherwise quiet room and soon there were whispers and shuffling feet that could only mean their victims had arrived. How should he do this?  Bang open the door and scare her?  Sneak up and surprise her?  

 _‘It’s not even that scary,’_ a voice giggled from somewhere in front of the phone booth.  Jon made his move, opened the door and lurched towards the meager group in one fluid movement, descending rapidly on the red-headed hippie who took one wide-eyed look at him and screamed-

“JON!”

-and damn. How did she know it was him?

To her credit, she did not go down without a fight, flailed her arms and twisted away like she was desperate to escape while her friends shrieked in terror, but he dragged her backwards into the phone booth and quickly closed the door. And still she fought him, even in the tiny room, tried to wriggle out of his arms, and her breathing sounded damn near panicked, tiny whimpers that broke him more than she could know. 

Had he really scared her that bad?

He soothed her on instinct, a hand stroking across her stomach and another on her arm, whispering in her hair- “Sansa, calm down, calm down. It’s alright.  You’re alright.”

“Jon?”  

Her voice cracked in relief and she melted against him, which really didn’t make any sense since he couldn’t have scared her _that_ much.  Breathing her in like that was having an unfortunate effect on him but his brain knew the right thing to do even if his body didn’t.  At least she wasn’t thrashing around anymore, which was... good?  Bad?  He pulled her closer before he could remember he wasn't supposed to.

Sansa was trembling something fierce, one hand over his, fingers clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing, shaky breathing slowly coming back down.

“You _scared_ me,” she hissed suddenly, and elbowed him hard in the arm.

“Oh, come on. How scared could you be?”

She was calmer now though he knew she was still wound up, knew it cause he could _feel_ it since he hadn’t removed his hands from her.  Because he was _soothing_ her, and nothing else, which she must have liked since she hadn’t let go of his hand, hadn’t even tried to move away.  If anything he’d say she was closer, leaning into him. 

“How’d you know it was me, anyway?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t.”

“Then why...”

The question ended abruptly when he realized- she wasn’t yelling _at_ him; she was yelling _for_ him.

“You scared me,” she repeated, a bit breathless.

It felt like every shallow breath pushed her closer to him; probably due to the size of the phone booth they were stuck in, that was all. Not because he’d _pulled_ her closer, or because his hands kept caressing her hips and sides, no longer interested in soothing but in something else.  Not because she’d dropped her head back on his shoulder and turned into him with a deep sigh.  Not because his heart was pounding at an alarming rate or because his skin felt like it was crackling with electricity.  Not because her breath hitched slightly when his fingers curled under her shirt, or because she was searching his face with heavy eyes.

“Jon? Do you um... maybe wanna get out of here?  You and me?”

Since the beginning of time, ‘wanna get out of here’ had been the code phrase of choice for scores of young adults, an invitation for time alone together, and a hint for maybe more. But for just a moment- a heartbeat, really- Jon thought she was referring to the phone booth- that she wanted to get _away_ from him- and it was that confused hesitation that caused her retreat.

“That’s ok,” she insisted quickly, shaking her head. She’d dropped her hands from him and inched away, body stiff and defensive. “It was a... dumb idea anyway.”

“No,” he said, and pulled her back gently, wound his arms tight around her waist and put his lips to her ear. “It wasn’t.”

“I don’t know,” she hummed, still tense. “Maybe you’d rather have someone pretty and flashy, like Margaery.  I can’t compete with that, right?”

It was a test if ever he’d heard one and he had to fight back a laugh. A test?  Now?  But hell, he’d pass this little test of hers with flying colors, cause he could speak easily from the heart.

“Are you kidding?” he asked, fingers playing with her hair. “You’re gorgeous.  You don’t need to do any of those gimmicky things like scrawling ‘Peace’ across your ass cheeks.”

“She has ‘Peace’ written across her ass cheeks, does she?”

Oops.  Why would he bring _that_ up, had he gone completely insane?  His brain scrabbled about for a witty rebuttal, but pointing out that it was near-impossible _not_ to look at a woman’s almost-naked rear end was probably not the wisest defense at the moment. 

Fortunately she didn’t make him suffer for long. 

“Would you like to stop talking about Margaery’s ass now?”

“Yes please.”

“Good answer. Wanna get out of here?”

“Yes please,” he repeated, feeling sort of weak and dumb, a feeling that only got worse when she brushed her lips against his.

“Good answer.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not much experience with Jonsa but hey, I tried!


End file.
